Sloane slipped into the service corridor. She punched Alex's bypass code into the keypad of the staff locker room. The light flashed green.

She broke into a locker and pulled out a black waitress uniform with gold embroidery. She stripped off her leather jacket and pulled the uniform on. She tied her hair into a tight bun, slid on a pair of thick black-framed glasses, and hooked a black medical mask over her ears.

She grabbed a silver tray loaded with champagne flutes and pushed through the swinging doors into the VIP lounge.

The bass vibrated in her teeth. Lasers sliced through the dark, smoke-filled room.

A drunk Wall Street bro reached out to grab her waist. Sloane didn't blink. She drove the hard edge of the silver tray directly into his wrist bone. He recoiled with a hiss. She kept walking.

Alex's voice buzzed in her ear. "V01. End of the hall. Blackwater mercs on the door."

Sloane kept her head down. She walked past V01, pretending to serve the adjacent booth. As she passed a tall potted palm, she stuck a micro-bug to the ceramic base.

Static hissed in her earpiece, followed by Haden's desperate, sweaty voice.

"I guarantee a thirty percent return in six months, Mr. Carrillo. The Mason name is backing this."

A low, gravelly voice cut through the audio. It was heavy, suffocating, and dripping with raw power.

"Your cash flow is bleeding. Your collateral is tied up in litigation. Your proposal is garbage."

Sloane's breath hitched. Eugene's voice was like a scalpel cutting through bone.

Haden stammered. "Please, if you just look at the projections-"

"Get this trash out of my sight," Eugene growled.

Before Sloane could even think of pulling the fire alarm, the heavy oak door of V01 exploded open.

Haden was thrown out by two massive bodyguards. He hit the Persian rug hard, the air rushing out of his lungs with a pathetic wheeze.

His business plan fluttered down, slapping him in the face.

Sloane immediately turned her back, pretending to wipe down a brass wall sconce.

Haden scrambled to his feet, cursing under his breath. He didn't even look at the waitress. He practically ran toward the elevators.

Sloane smiled under her mask. Step one, complete. Haden was ruined.

"Sloane, wait," Alex's voice crackled urgently. "Eugene's assistant just walked into the private lounge next door with a black briefcase. It matches the description of the Song Group's shadow ledger."

Sloane's eyes snapped toward the door of the private lounge. The Song Group helped destroy her father. That ledger was the holy grail.

The door was cracked open. A sliver of yellow light spilled onto the carpet. No guards.

She set her tray down. She stepped silently toward the door and pushed it open.

The room smelled of expensive whiskey and heavy cigar smoke. It was empty.

She took one step toward the mahogany desk.

SLAM.

The door behind her slammed shut. The deadbolt clicked violently.

Sloane spun around. She crashed directly into a wall of solid, burning muscle.

A massive hand shot out and clamped around the back of her neck. The grip was like iron. He slammed her backward against the heavy wooden door.

The air was knocked from her lungs.

She looked up. A pair of blood-red, feral eyes stared down at her from behind a silver half-mask.

The man's jaw was clenched so tight the muscle twitched. His chest heaved. His body heat radiated through his suit, scorching her skin.

Eugene Carrillo.

Eugene's free hand slid down her waist, his touch burning through the thin uniform.

"A lost little mouse?" his voice was pure gravel, rough and dangerous. "Or a cheap gift from Haden?"

Sloane's heart hammered against her ribs. Her hand slid slowly toward the top of her boot. Toward the stun pen.

She stared into the eyes of the beast.

Sloane's fingertips brushed the cold metal of the stun pen.

Before she could pull it, Eugene's knee slammed upward, pinning her thigh to the door. His hand shot down, moving with terrifying, inhuman speed.

He ripped the stun pen from her boot. He held it up between them.

With one squeeze of his massive hand, the military-grade plastic cracked. The pen shattered into pieces. He dropped the broken electronics onto the carpet.

Sloane's stomach dropped. She was physically outmatched in every possible way.

Eugene's hand flew back up. He grabbed the front of her mask and ripped it off, taking the glasses with it. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

The dim wall sconce illuminated her face.

Eugene's body went rigid. His eyes narrowed, a dangerous, calculating glint appearing in their depths, before it was instantly swallowed by a dark, violent haze.

Sweat beaded on his forehead. His skin was practically on fire.

"The new bride of Donavan Mason," Eugene snarled, his breath hot against her cheek. "Does your husband know you're sneaking into my club?"

Sloane felt a surge of bile in her throat, her voice cold. "I'm a waitress. Let me go."

Eugene let out a dark, ragged laugh. He pressed his entire body weight against her. The physical evidence of his arousal pressed hard against her stomach.

"A waitress with a military stun pen?" he whispered against her ear.

He buried his face in her neck, his breathing erratic. "The Song Group spiked my whiskey at the table. A military-grade aphrodisiac."

Sloane's eyes widened. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced her chest. She was locked in a room with a drugged apex predator.

She shoved her hands against his chest, pushing with all her might. It was like pushing a brick wall.

Eugene's hand clamped around both of her wrists, pinning them above her head against the door.

"Fix this," he growled, his teeth grazing her collarbone. "Or I call Haden back right now and tell him you're a rat."

Sloane froze. If Haden found out she was here, her entire five-year revenge plan would turn to ash.

"I'll call you a doctor," she gasped, trying to keep her voice steady.

Eugene bit down hard on her collarbone. Sloane winced, a sharp cry escaping her lips.

"I can't have medical records of this," he panted. "You have no choice."

Sloane glared at him, her eyes burning with defiance. "If I do this... what do I get?"

Eugene pulled back slightly. He looked at her, his eyes dark with lust and a twisted kind of respect.

"I destroy Haden's credit permanently," Eugene said, his voice thick. "And I give you the Song Group ledger in the safe."

Sloane's heart pounded in her ears. It was the ultimate weapon. But the price was her own body.

She looked at the silver mask. She thought of her father in the ICU. She thought of the baby she lost in the fire.

Eugene didn't wait for her answer. His patience snapped.

He grabbed her waist, lifted her off the floor, and carried her across the room. He threw her down onto the massive leather sofa.

The world spun. Before Sloane could sit up, Eugene was on top of her.

He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a long, black silk pocket square. He grabbed her wrists, pulled them above her head, and lashed them to the heavy wooden armrest of the sofa.

"You bastard," Sloane hissed, thrashing against the bindings.

"Wall Street is a jungle," Eugene said coldly. "Eat or be eaten."

He grabbed the collar of her uniform and ripped it open. The buttons popped, scattering across the floor. The cold air hit her bare skin.

Sloane squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear of pure humiliation slid down her temple.

Then, the hatred took over. She stopped fighting. She opened her eyes. They were dead, cold, and utterly fearless.

"Keep your promise, Eugene," she whispered. "Or I will drag you to hell with me."

Eugene let out a guttural roar. His control shattered. He crashed his mouth down onto hers, devouring her completely.